Medici Blood
by MariaPurt
Summary: After the events of Reign ep 11, king Henry finds himself wanting to have one last conversation with his wife, only it goes all the wrong ways. Some dark moments and suggestion of violence and sex. You might want to check the youtube video first - it has a slightly different story, but the timing is the same: Poison's Kinder Than the Axe (REIGN AU). Этот фанф доступен на фикбуке.
1. Chapter 1

You wouldn't have minded my Medici blood if the hurt of my betrayal wasn't stinging you right now…

Henry stood in front of his huge bed, surrounded by the dim light of the countless candles - still not daring to even touch the silky sheets: he'd gotten a new hope yesterday, and by today it was gone. However happy and magical the past seemed, it was clearly impossible to go back there. Even if one could create the illusion and lie to himself, the reality would catch, tear apart and leave him broken.

Just yesterday, he was lying in bed, facing the ceiling of his chambers, overwhelmed by the boyish happiness and adult bitterness. He loved his wife, she loved him - what else could he desire? Even after a quarter of century that they'd spent together, they could still feel something. They could still be tender to each other even if no one else could see it. Too bad this realization was so late to come - he doesn't want to do this to Catherine, she's all eager to support this not-wanting of his. He *did not* want. She *was* eager. And now, what has changed?

Henry looked at his bed again - the very bed he so passionately shared with his wife just the other night - and the answer he was so sure of just vanished from his mind. What has changed? Was she guilty of treason or of betraying him? Probably, but he wasn't sure which one hurt him more. Did he even care? Perhaps, yesterday it'd be easy for him to convince himself it didn't matter, but today... Does he feel anything to his wife besides being offended? Yes, with her he turned into that young boy who had the whole world in front of him. Yes, he was angry, but did he hate? Yes, he did, but it wasn't her whom he hated, it was himself - for feeling sorry and for wasting so many years while thinking he had been abandoned. The anger towards his best friend - traitor, traitor, traitor - corrected Henry his own thoughts, made his blood boil. And with this ruthless fever the king of France tried to understand how the hell it had all happened.

He understood, slowly laying onto the bed and breathing in the flowerish smell of the pillows, that he wanted answers. Not the ones that Medici's pride made his wife say. He wanted the truth, and he'd get one. With a quick move he left his fluffy warm blankets, put on a furry coat over his pajamas and left his chambers. Neither he nor his guards who silently followed him as if they were his shadows, had any idea of the destination. But in just several minutes that mystery was solved, and the king found himself quickly climbing the narrow steps of the tower.

"His majesty the king" – sounded the guard's voice in a dark room of Catherine's. With no furniture and only two small candles to light the space it welcomed Henry who froze in the doorway a moment later, terrified.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"What does this mean?" - Henry turns to face the guard who has just informed the queen of her husband's arrival and tried to leave the room. The man freezes, clumsily bows - for the hundredth time this night - and whispers uncertainly. A barely audible sound hits the bare grey walls and echos in the corners.

"There was an assasination attempt concerning the queen of Scotland. The heir ordered the attacker chained up and..." He of course will miss out the part where Bash wanted the queen being treated like an animal - little the guard wants to become that animal should one of the royals come avenging their hurt pride.

The rage that felt like a white cold snow a moment ago is now filling up Henry's veins with hot lava. He takes a breath. And another one. What is it happening here - he's still alive, he's still a king, but he doesn't really have any knowledge of what's hapenning in his own castle.

"Henry" a weak female voice comes from the far dark side of the room, acompanied by the jingling of the metal. The king throws one last angry look at the guard, dismissing him with a slightest movement of his chin. As soon as the guard steps outside, his majesty closes the door with a loud push: if the king can't break somebody's neck at the moment, he'll sure as hell get even with the damn door.

"Catherine" he breathes out never facing his wife. "Being Medici till the end?" - there's a sneer in his voice, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think her husband's come to gloat. After all, he's got a really good reason to - a victory. The king knows how to win and loves it. "What on earth has Mary done to you this time?"

"You woke me up" - not exactly the answer he anticipated. But of course, this is still a woman who'd won him without a battle many many years ago. Even when nobody's watching, even when the game is over, she remains the real queen keeping up the glorious performance. Henry smiles to his thoughts, lowers the head almost smiling boyishly to himself and finally turns to face his wife.

"Is it so?" - his smile is still broad and flashy but then he sees the deathly paleness of the woman, he sees her messy hair caught under the heavy metal collar. He sees her swollen red eyes - and he knows for sure she's just cried. Slowly approaching the wooden construction that serves as a bed here, Henry can't help but wince at the view he sees. His wife, who's held her head high and defiantly in the morning, is now sitting on the smelly rugs with her feet tucked up and hidden under the dress. She can barely move under the weigh of the heavy chains, bowing her head to spare the pain in the neck. The king can still remember this red gown of Catherine's - she wore it at Francis' birthday a year ago... Even though it's dark in the room, Henry sees the way she trembles - and all the while he slowly walks towards his sentenced wife, he can't stop wondering if there are any blankets here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, kitties! Thank you for reading this thing and sorry for the delays. I'm traveling abroad at the moment, and I'm writing this story in two langauges at the same time. On the bright side, the other version is done, so now the updates will come sooner. As always, comments are what inspires the writer :D**

...

"Why are you here?" the king heard and with a proud smirk he noted that Catherine's voice wasn't trembling. In fact, if he didn't see his wife right now, he'd think she was mocking him. He approached her while the woman remained motionless: looking like a haunted animal who was ready to attack for the one last time if there came a chance. Interesting, the king thought to himself, kneeling beside his wife so that his face was lower than hers. He wanted to looks into her eyes, he needed it. Catherine was always a terrific opponent both in life and in death, but he'd never expected her to fail at being defeated. She was always so determined to win that now Catherine simply didn't know how to behave when she'd lost. The king hoped to get the one last battle, perhaps, but she wasn't entertaining him at all. So maybe it was time to get some truth from her, if the Medici blood would allow of course.

"I've been thinking" he stated breathing out the air stuck in his lungs.-"Today. You didn't try to save your lover's life or yours. Instead, you attempted to destroy my son. Why?" Henry was still eyeing her from the kneeling position. Catherine moved her chin surprised, backing her head as far as the iron chains allowed.

"You came in the middle of the night to ask why I tried to destroy you heretic mistress and her bastard son?" - there it was, the bitter biting laughter in her voice. The king was almost happy to hear it.

"Even now you remain a closed book, Catherine" he spitted the words and quickly got up. No, he wasn't going to leave - he still had the whole night to handle his wife. He'd get the answers; one way or another he wanted to see her true self: not the Medici, not the heir's mother, not the queen. He wanted to see his wife. "Guards!" he yelled, his loud voice echoing in the room like an earthquake. Henry didn't see the way Catherine panicked that moment, but he was utterly pleased with the fear on the guard's face.

"Yes, you majesty?"

"The key. Now." - Henry said impatiently holding out his hand but never moving from where he stood. The guard stepped closer, his feet shaking - oh dear God, serving in the royal castle got too dangerous, one could no longer know whose orders to obey.

"Are you trying to impress me? Is it not a little too late?" Catherine commented as soon as the guard left. Henry bit his lip angrily, never turning to face his wife. His eyes moved from the door to his floor. "You aren't anything of a nobel knight. They save their queens from the towers" - she continued with a laughter that Henry couldn't quite undesrtand. "You are rather a dragon in this fairytale, you know..."

"I know it all too well" he cut her off, smiling broadly, his voice cheerfull. He felt young again, he felt in the game. The king remembered their first night together - a scared _girl _and a sloppy _boy._

Deep in these memories and almost ignoring the way Catherine jerked away from him with a blind fear, Henry reached out to caress her cheeck. His wife's head was already pressed against the wall - she just couldn't move away any further. Catherine always expected the worst of him, probably considering him a monster and even fearing him. Well, they were worth each other. The iron collar clicked open after two turns of a key, and Henry found himself carefully extracting the brutal necklace from his wife's messed up hair.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry it takes me so long to update, kitties. I'm traveling at the moment (Ireland, oh Ireland), but the good news is: all the stories are finished. So I'll be uploading them sloooowly and painfully LOL. Don't forget to check out other fanfics I've written about Catherine: Condemned Woman, Do Nothing and I'll Die, Window, Forest for a queen... And of course, I'm always looking forward to your reviews - good or bad :D**_

...

When Catherine expectantly lifts her chained hands the king's face breaks with a contemptuous smirk: "You'll never learn to be greatful for what you get, will you?" and as if to make up for the cruelty he's just said, Henry pulls off his fur coat and places it on the shoulders of his wife.

She smiles at him with a catlike gratefullbess, bowing her head and wrapping herself deeper into the warm clothes of the King. Catherine's body shivers even stronger when Henry takes off her wrist shackles, exposing her skinned wrists. Looking at his wife, he sighs - Henry hasn't seen his wife so vulnerable before - not even during her multiple birthgivings, the first few of which Henry stayed next to his wife's chambers. Perhaps back then it was't Catherine being so very strong, but the potions she was given made her look like it – Henry couldn't tell, but he knew his wife was always a tough one.

Caring, sometimes ingratiating, always ready to support her husband...

"You'll freeze," she interrupts his thoughts, and Henry catches her sad look on his hands: without knowing it, he's squeezed his fingers on his wife's injured wrists - slightly, painlessly - he hopes - just to support her.

Perhaps.

"Tomorrow I will have my head chopped off, it won't matter whether I am sick with pneumonia. Get dressed. You still have France and England to rule," - Catherine continues and Henry realizes that fretting, ready to manipulate and bite anyone woman is still here. Taking a deep breath the King sits next to his wife – on top of the stinking rags that the bed is covered with - still holding Catherine's hands.

" How did we come to this?" - he asks bitterly, moving forward and trying to kiss the forehead of his wife. She turns away at the last moment, and Henry buries his nose in her hair - the scent of mint, flowers and youth dizzing his head. "I still don't want to do this to you," - he whispers to her ear and rests his forehead on her temple.

"A little late for that," - Catherine snaps, jerking her head to the side - the shacklesare removed now, and nothing restrains the movements of the queen. "You asked me to trust you, but you never gave me such a luxury." She tries to get out of the bed but her legs do not obey as her head becomes even more dizzy. "So why are you here? To soothe your conscience?" - the woman continues, pulling her hands from the grip of Henry's and slowly walking away from the bed on her stiff legs. "Tomorrow evening, you want to make it easier for yourself to fall asleep, so you must hate me. You must despise me not to stop the executioner at the last moment, is not it what it's about? And you come to me hoping I'll help. A man who kills his wife is afraid of his own remorse. Afraid of his own pity ..." - she says it faster and louder with every next word, her arms folded across her chest, her back leaning against the wall.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I had to see if my decision was right, for the last time," - Henry spits sharply, jumping out of bed and heading to his wife." And you know, you almost convinced me," - he comes close, and before she can dodge, he kisses her on the lips. Strongly. Passionately. Making sure she can't stop him.

Catherine's head meets cold stone of the tower wall, and the king, clasping his wife's shoulders, moveds to kiss her neck now. The woman doesn't resist - she knows that his majesty will disdain to take her here on the dirty prison sheets. She knows that if she does not respond to his caresses, he will soon get bored and, having received the necessary disappointment in her, the king will retire to his chambers where he probably has a young mistress waiting for him. The girl will probably hav a hard time this night, but why should Catherine worry about silly little flys being attracted to the flames of her husband?

But she loves him - and no matter how many times the queen tells herself otherwise, she misses his touch. She misses him . Everything. And last night showed her all the colors of the world. Within a few hours the sun will rise, counting the last moments of her life, and for some reason Catherine doesn't want to be alone now . She does not want to die - because her death will not do any good. And because she is afraid...


End file.
